Chapter 261: Caesar’s Day In Bethlehem
Once Haridi had quietly slipped away through the side door without attracting attention, Caesar noticed that the sun had already risen high, and the temperature on the floor showed a clear difference between the parts with light and those without.
He glanced at the water clock nearby and saw that it was nearly time for a meal. He was planning to just grab a piece of cheese to get through this one—he didn’t care much about his three meals a day, but when he was with Baldwin, he had to set an example to avoid making Baldwin’s already precarious health even worse.
But just as he took his first bite, someone came to report that Bishop Andrew was visiting.
Bishop Andrew had once served as Amalric I’s agent, managing this small city on his behalf for over a decade. That was why Caesar had decided from the start not to interfere too much in Bethlehem’s affairs. He believed there would surely be many people looking forward to seeing Amalric I’s old retainer and Baldwin IV’s close friend tear into each other in a ridiculous power struggle.
Fortunately, Bishop Andrew was also a smart man. He hadn’t eagerly given Caesar a show of force; on the contrary, he had taken a step back first. Cooperation between two people who weren’t fools was always pleasant. Even later, when Caesar spent most of his time at Holy Cross Castle and then went to Cyprus, leaving only Longinus as his representative in Bethlehem—Longinus naturally used this as an excuse to make no statements on many major matters—who didn’t know that Caesar’s future went far beyond this, and his territory would never be limited to just one Bethlehem.
This time, Longinus was going with Caesar to the battlefield, but Caesar didn’t take the opportunity to install a newcomer; instead, he handed the choice of agent to Bishop Andrew.
Bishop Andrew, of course, wasn’t foolish enough to take someone else’s goodwill for granted.
In return, he brought Caesar the taxes and tribute from Bethlehem, as well as the proceeds from issuing certificates and such—things that undoubtedly belonged to the local lord—but the extra portions were surely Bishop Andrew yielding his own share.
He even mentioned his properties in Bethlehem. The bishop promised that when he went to see God, he would leave a will, or before dying, transfer all these properties to Caesar.
Caesar was greatly surprised, after all, Bishop Andrew had a nephew whom the bishop valued highly and regarded as his own heir.
“He has already received all my properties in Francia, and he won’t stay here either. After this expedition, he’s going back home to get married. You know who his wife is, right?”
Caesar nodded. “Gerard’s Damara, a respectable lady and very brave.”
“You might want to know that my nephew once heard about how you swore an oath to Gerard’s Damara, but after Amalric I’s death, Damara released you from your oath. He felt very regretful about that.”
“Regretful?”
“Yes, a knight like you—noble in character, renowned in battle, handsome and elegant—is the ideal and role model for all young people. They trust and admire you no less than King Baldwin IV of Ayyarasa Road.
He had already heard about you back in his own castle, and after meeting you, he admired you even more, though unfortunately, he didn’t have much chance to interact with you.
He even told me that if he and Damara got married here, it would be great to have your blessing.”
Caesar was somewhat surprised, then smiled. “That would be my honor. If possible, I would be happy to serve as their witness.”
Bishop Andrew immediately clapped his hands. “That couldn’t be better!”
“But your properties… even if you can’t manage them personally here, you could find an agent—the profits earned here could still be sent back to Francia.”
Bishop Andrew just shook his head. “My nephew is also a pious young man. He even discussed with me donating all his properties here, along with his bounty（ from the martial arts tournament and the） battlefield, to some Knights— the Temple, Hospice, or Holy Sepulchre.”
“You don’t intend for him to become a knight here? If you wish, I can recommend him to Baldwin.”
Bishop Andrew glanced at him but didn’t respond. In fact, what the bishop had in mind was—Baldwin IV’s days were numbered, and the marriage of Abigail and Sibylla clearly wouldn’t produce good offspring. He didn’t know who the Knights of the Holy Sepulchre would fall into the hands of in the future, but none of the prospects looked good—and since Caesar came to Bethlehem, all his words and actions had been carefully observed by him.
He was certain this young man lived up to his reputation—he was indeed someone people could trust and place their hopes in. Leaving the properties to the Knight of Bethlehem, he believed these mansions, fields, and workshops wouldn’t be used for his personal lavish enjoyment or as tools for violence.
Whether he used them to arm his own knights or to comfort poor pilgrims, it could be said to be what Bishop Andrew and his nephew hoped for.
Bishop Andrew didn’t hide his thoughts from others.
For the people of Bethlehem and the surrounding areas, this was good news, and they rejoiced over it—after all, they had already learned from Cyprus that their lord wasn’t a greedy man. Those serving the bishop could especially rest easy; they wouldn’t face harsher rule, nor worry about being sold off or mortgaged—their lives would continue as before, and might even get better.
But in another place, there was a crowd full of anxious people.
This was the Synagogue of Isaac in Bethlehem.
Whether Christians, Saracens, or even Turks, having a lord like Caesar would surely earn their endless gratitude. After all, for those poor commoners, all they sought was to live steadily, with a house to live in, food to eat, and the ability to raise offspring—that was it.
But for the Isaacites, they’d rather have a tyrant than such a lord. After all, in their thousand years of history, they had encountered countless tyrants.
Put another way, even if an enlightened and wise monarch took the throne, he would eventually become irritable under their constant overreaching.
They knew well the temperament and mindset of these rulers, and knew how to control and exploit this terrifying power—though they had capsized several times, they still firmly believed their approach was absolutely correct.
This view seemed to have reached consensus in their community. What did it matter if the lord was tyrannical? The suffering wouldn’t be theirs anyway. They could even use the opportunity to become the lord’s whip and club, to torment those Christians who once looked down on them, expelled them, or even killed them.
They were always eager to do such things, even knowing their own end wouldn’t be good. But so what? If they didn’t do it, would their fate be any better? Wouldn’t they still be fat pigs waiting to be slaughtered by the ruler, or scapegoats to quell the people’s anger?
For them, a lord like Caesar was the hardest to accept. So what if he treated Christians, Saracens, Turks, and Isaacites equally?
What the Isaacites wanted was never equality. And his reforms in tax law and coinage filled the Isaacites with despair.
This set of laws hadn’t yet been implemented in Bethlehem, but it was only a thought away for Caesar. What if those Venetians thought the positions in Cyprus weren’t enough for them to arrange?
With that Venetian woman advising at his side, their lord would surely go along with it. Where would they go then?
If Bishop Andrew and Caesar became mortal enemies, they might still have a chance to sow discord, but these two had been amicable from the start—and now Bishop Andrew was even willing to hand over his share of power ahead of time…
They vaguely felt the weight of that already forming pressure. Their lord was just—too upright. He didn’t allow deception, blackmail, or extortion—look at the gold coins he minted.
Truth be told, as long as Caesar still had Cyprus and Bethlehem, even if the minted gold coins weren’t very pure, varied in size, or differed in weight, what unforgivable crime would that be?
Would the merchants dare refuse people spending that money in his territory?
His current shortage of funds was only temporary. When a lord newly inherits a territory, there are inevitably all sorts of endless expenses. Once the whole system was running and started providing returns, would he still lack gold and silver?
By then, the currency he minted might well become the new Roman gold coin. The Isaacites might tolerate that, unable to use some of their previous money-making tricks on those coins.
But they also didn’t want to see some currency become universally accepted—how many Isaacites were in the currency exchange business?
If there was a currency that could circulate freely in everyone’s hands, what point would currency exchange have? Moreover, they heard this lord seemed to be getting into the currency exchange trade too—they were mistaken; Caesar’s intent was like a bank, where his subjects could bring worn, damaged, or deformed coins to exchange at his institution—but even so, the Isaacites weren’t happy.
When they were driven out of usual industries（ like farming, textiles, and crafts）, they always felt utterly indignant. But now, their complaints seemed more like baseless whining—asking Isaacites to go back to being craftsmen and farmers was something they absolutely refused.
Now, for the Isaacites, only lending and finance were left as industries, and they treated these two as their exclusive domains. Anyone daring to encroach, they would ruthlessly chop off that hand.
“We can’t keep tolerating this,” the Wise man of Bethlehem said. “We need to think of something.”
“What can we think of? He doesn’t like pretty women or cute boys, and he doesn’t care much about money— isn’t that right? When he was still an attendant, he once gave alms to an entire Ayyarasa Road’s worth of people.
He seems to like eating, but how much does food cost? Moreover, what he eats isn’t very expensive. On his dining table, rarities like swan, wild boar, or unicorn whale are rarely seen. He doesn’t have much love for spices, and as for sugar and honey… damn it, Cyprus is the origin of rock sugar.
He doesn’t drink excessively either—a weakness seen in many knights. What an annoying guy.” Someone said, and all the Isaacites in the synagogue nodded along.
“But he must have a weakness. Even Samson had an unchangeable flaw. He’s just a mortal; he must have a weakness.”
“His weakness might be that he’s too sentimental, like a woman.”
“Who knows if that’s true.”
“It’s true,” an Isaacite replied. “I can guarantee he has a reverse scale, but it’s not on himself.”
“Knowing that changes nothing. Are we going to assemble an army to attack Holy Cross Castle or Cyprus?”
“Of course not. Perhaps we can hire an Assassin.”
“His divine favor… I’m afraid even an Assassin can’t guarantee killing him…”
“Not us… gentlemen… we are Isaacites, not those reckless Christian knights—does he really not have even one enemy?”
